


Kept Her Eyes On The Prize

by Hollandoodle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Camping, F/M, Fear, Firearm, SanSan Russian Roulette, Sansa POV, Sex, Smut, Splinter - Freeform, Wolves, mines, sansan, wolf - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 17:01:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13392252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hollandoodle/pseuds/Hollandoodle
Summary: Submission for Eighth Sansan Russian Roulette Prompt Challenge:In which Sansa talks Sandor into going camping so she can convince him she is dating material.





	Kept Her Eyes On The Prize

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @Maroucia on Tumblr for creating this challenge! The prompt I was given was: _Sandor sits on an old wooden bench and promptly gets a splinter…Sansa has to help remove it_ (by @l60014)

Sandor didn’t want to date, and Sansa was tired of hearing his crap. 

“I’m too fucking old for you.”

_ Sixteen years was not an insurmountable age difference. _

”You’re too fucking young, Little Bird.”

_ Twenty-six? I think I know my own mind well enough, thank you very much. _

“Your parents will hate me.”

_ You’ve got me, there. But big whoop. _

He didn’t want to hear any of her rebuttals, no matter how reasonable they were. And he liked to interrupt, whereas she was at least respectful enough to hear him out.

“I don’t want anyone else--”

“You will, down the line. Someone younger, handsome.”

“ _ You’re _ handsome, Sandor. Just because--”

“Aye, handsome as these fucking scars let me be. Fucking hells, Sansa, what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that I love--”

“Don’t say it. Don’t even fucking say it.”

No matter what she did, he kept her at arm’s length. She could walk into his apartment, just down the hall from hers, wrapped in a robe with the slit open to her cleavage and he would turn her by the shoulders, march her right back to her door, and give her a lecture about “ _ Do you want the whole fucking neighborhood to see your goods?” _

Once she had used his spare key to sneak into his bed when he was due home late from work. It had been amazing--the first time she’d been in it--immersed in the scent of him, knowing that his naked body had lain on those sheets, that he had breathed into that pillow, mere hours before. 

And she’d woken up in her  _ own _ bed, covered by her  _ own _ blanket, with a note on the bedside table that read “ _ Don’t do that again _ .”

The last time she had tried to seduce him, she had done it with food.

It was his nameday, and he had just turned forty-two so to celebrate she had made him a massive steak (because it was his favorite), with mashed potatoes, fresh baked dinner rolls and real butter. Then she had proceeded to be the messiest damned eater she’d ever been in her entire adult life, so he was forced to watch her deal with dripping butter and messy potatoes.

By slowly licking butter off her fingers, using her tongue to wipe mashed potatoes off the corner of her lips--hells, she even dripped steak juice-- _ steak juice!!! _ \--onto the exposed swells of her breast over her low cut top so she had to take her sweet time using the very tip of her napkin to wipe it off, all the while laughing seductively beneath lowered lashes about what a klutz she was.

_ Gods _ , she had worked so hard that night at it. She had kept the light in the dining area dim but had placed two fake candles on the table, their lights flickering in a way that mimicked real flame because she knew he’d just blow out real ones as soon as he saw them. She had worn her darkest green sweater with the scoop neck, knowing it set off the copper highlights in her hair, as well as the paleness of her chest. And on top of that, she had shaved. Like,  _ everything _ , so that she was perfectly trimmed inside her panties with smooth legs and smooth armpits. And she didn’t do that for just anyone!

What had all that work earned her? A couple grunts while she licked butter off her finger, some stares as she’d mopped at her chest, and a heartfelt  _ “That dinner was amazing, Sansa _ .”

Amazing, huh? Just fucking amazing. What the ever-loving--

Then an idea had been dropped in her lap--literally by Arya, who had to cancel her Valentine’s plans with Gendry because he suddenly had to work. Sansa unexpectedly had two camping bags full of supplies, a map for how to find the old Winterfell mines up in the hills, and an entire weekend to seduce the balls off Sandor.

Well, not balls  _ off _ , really, because she wanted those to remain attached. And with any luck, in her hands. While going down on him.

Naked.

But still, she was going to pull out all the stops.

That was, until she approached him later that same night at his apartment with the itinerary and the map.

“Please, please,  _ please _ , Sandor! I have no one to go with, and this seems like a great opportunity!”

He turned to her, his only eyebrow shooting up towards his hairline as his hands continued to scrub at the pan he was washing. He had suds up to his forearms and she liked the way they disturbed the dark hairs on his skin, how dark and thick the hair was, yet barely concealed the rippling of muscles and tendons just beneath the surface as he moved--

_ Focus! _

“Three days alone with you in the woods?”

His eyes flicked down and up her body and she got the impression that he was fighting his attraction to her, but damn, he was a good fighter.

“It’ll be fun!” She went around him, coming up closer to his other side, though not close enough to scare him off. He could be like a skittish horse, and she wanted to avoid his fight or flight response. “There will be tons of photo opportunities--”

“Yeah, because I love having my photo taken.”

She ignored him as he scrubbed, and went on, “And the views will be amazing, we’ll see wild animals, and--ooo!--wolves! We might see wolves, and I know how much you like canines!”

He chuckled, and she felt she might have broken through some of his shell.

“Dogs, Little Bird. I like dogs.”

“Same thing,” she breezed, “And Gendry says there’s a pack who live in those hills but they don’t harm people as long as you don’t act aggressive towards them.”

He turned sharply to her then, irritation in his eyes.

“A whole pack? You want me to bring you into the wilderness where there’s a pack of wolves who might  _ attack  _ you?”

Sansa rolled her eyes for dramatic effect, but inwardly simpered at the protective look in his eyes. Well, it was a step in a right direction, if not exactly the right one.

“He said they’ll keep their distance, and besides--I know you carry a gun. You’ll protect me--us,” she quickly corrected, smiling up at him. She was close enough to touch him--wanted to touch,  _ gods _ , how she wanted to touch him--but…  _ Fight or flight _ , she reminded herself.

“Besides, when was the last time you went out of town? Come on, you’re the supervisor, I know you could take Friday off if you really wanted to.” She lowered her face but kept her eyes trained on him, knowing this position made them look bigger--her puppy dog look, which she rarely pulled on him. She kept her voice low and plaintive as she blinked once, twice.  “Please, Sandor? Do it for me?”

She watched his nostrils flare, a tell tale sign that she was affecting him with her close proximity, so she even took a step back, giving him some space. He turned from her, moving his focus back to the dishes he was washing, and she moved back over to his other side, where the sink full of clean dishes was. As though they had done it thousands of times before, she turned on the warm water and began to rinse, setting them in the dish drainer to her side one by one. Of course, they had never done anything so domestic like that, not together, but she found it soothing. With his bulk standing next to her, more than a head taller than her five feet, nine inches; and watching his big hands handle the dainty dishes that looked so much larger in her own hands--only served to heighten her awareness of him. She hoped it had the same effect on him.

Finally he stepped away as she finished, backing up to the counter behind them and leaning against it as she cast a glance towards him over her shoulder. His eyes had just returned from a perusal of her backside, so she turned back to her task so he wouldn’t see her smile.

And blush. The man could make her blush like a schoolgirl with simply a stare.

When she was finally done she turned as well, leaning back on the counter beside the sink with her hands braced on the side, knowing full well this pushed her breasts out but acting as though it was the most comfortable position.

That was when he finally looked away, looked at his watch, looked out the window above the kitchen sink, and then over to the side where a calendar hung on the back of the pantry door. It displayed his work days in circled dates, every single weekday for the entire month. 

He could seriously use a day off, she knew, and a weekend in the wilderness--

_ Being sexed by a horny twenty-six year old woman whose womb cried out for his seed and whose body ached for his firm grip on hers in the middle of the night-- _

_ Ahem _ . A weekend in the wilderness, to relax, maybe do some fishing, and to get away from the noise of the city in general. Yes, it was just what he needed.

They both turned their gazes back from the calendar at the same time, and Sansa bit her lip to keep the grin off her face when she saw the smile threatening to appear beneath the corner of his mustache.

“Little Bird, I don’t know how you talk me into your schemes, but…” He sighed, and glanced at the calendar one more time before nodding in her direction.

“I’ll go. On one condition.”

“Anything,” she nearly squealed.

She watched his thick neck muscles move as he clenched his jaw and swallowed, his arms coming up to cross over his broad chest.

“We have two tents.”

 

-/\\---/\\------------

 

The sun was dipping lower and lower in the sky when they finally reached the old mining site--town, really, since there were a couple cordoned off mine shafts, a collapsed mining office, what may have been a small trading post at one point but was now just a pile of burnt logs, and another building that still had the “Tavern” sign hanging on the one remaining wall. Off in the distance was the structure that was still a big draw--the two story log bunkhouse where all the miners had slept--with several large and small outlying buildings of indeterminate usage.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Sansa reached out to tug at Sandor’s sleeves, rolled to the elbow as they were, but she wasn’t really paying attention to him. She was too busy taking in her surroundings, wondering how on earth all these possible photos were going to fit on her phone. 

Then she remembered Sandor had only taken a few photos on the trek up from the trailhead, so if she ran out of room then maybe she could ask to use his.

“It’s… charming,” he said after a beat, and she turned to see him standing with his hands on his hips, looking around at the small clearing they were standing in.

He looked so out of place that she had to laugh, and he turned to her with a sardonic grin.

“You could at least  _ try _ to be happy about being here,” she responded, shaking her head as she swung the heavy pack off her back. Tied to the side was her small two-person tent, identical to the one Sandor had hanging from his own pack. She eyed it with disdain, as though it had chosen to be attached to her backpack, and to be a hindrance to her plans. 

But no, it was Sandor who had demanded two tents, and she was sure it was because he knew if given the right provocation, he would succumb to the simmering attraction that was like a gravitational pull between them.

She felt it--every damned second she was in his presence, and it remained a quiet agitation in the background of every minute she wasn't. 

It was there when she felt her heart stutter as she watched him swing the heavy pack off his back. Even through the henley and flannel shirts he wore, she saw the play of muscle and bone as he lowered it to the ground.

It was there when he helped her set up her tent; a city girl not knowing what to do but her capable man coming to her aid as soon as she called him. Sandor’s laughing gray eyes watched her fumble with the tent poles until he showed her--covering her hands with his--how to pull the rods apart and then seat them into each other, letting the elastic cord be the guide. His hands were rough but warm, thorough and patient, exactly as she imagined they would feel against her skin.

The attraction was even there, stronger despite the distance, when she stood to one side of the small fire she had made, pride shining on her features as she looked over the flames into his eyes. He sat far off to the other side of the fire, a good distance away from its heat, with a small smile on his bearded face sending chills up her spine. The way he was looking at her, with his hands resting lightly on his knees and his teeth gnawing at his lower lip in that way that drove her mad, she felt about ready to saunter on over and plop down into his lap and refuse to take “No” as an answer.

But then he reached down beside his chair into the food bag there and pulled out a bag of something, lobbing it easily over the fire and directly to her.

She caught it, surprised that he had thrown her anything, and she let out a small cry of delight when she saw the large white marshmallows in the bag.

“Oh my gods, Sandor!” She laughed, hugging the bag to her chest as she stamped her feet on the ground in glee. “This is perfect!” 

When she looked back at Sandor he was grinning as well, obviously enjoying her delight in the small treat. 

“It’s really camping now! It really is camping now, thanks to you!  _ Oh! _ Sticks! We need marshmallow sticks!” She ran around the fire and up to him where he sat, bending down to press a kiss to his hair covered cheek. Then more quietly she added, “Thank you,” looking into those eyes that she could swear knew all of her secrets. But of course they couldn’t, because he would have known she wasn’t leaving this mining camp without making him hers, one way or another.

She took out the camping knife Arya had stowed in her bag and set about scanning the perimeter of the clearing, not far from the fire but far enough that she was having trouble seeing any good marshmallow sticks clearly.

“Sandor, could you shine a flashlight over here so I can see? It’s too dark!” She walked some more, and just as a beam of light hit the small willow she was holding, she saw exactly how straight and utterly perfect a marshmallow stick it was. “Ha! I found one!” Then she bent low and started sawing through the small branch towards the bottom.

She had nearly gotten halfway when she heard Sandor rise from his chair.

“It’s about time you came over and helped,” she laughed, shaking her shaking her hair out of the way. It had been blocking the light of the flashlight, and now lay over her back once again so she could see what she was doing. 

But Sandor hadn’t moved, and instead his low voice came across the short distance, simply saying her name deep and cautiously. 

“Sansa…”

“What? Am I the only one who’s going to have a stick?” Then she almost laughed when she remembered that he wasn’t going to go anywhere near the fire. More seriously, she said, “Oh, Sandor, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I’ll cook marshmallows for--

“Sansa,” came his voice, only slightly more urgent.

“No, really, Sandor, it’s--” she looked up at him just as he interrupted again.

“Sansa, stop what you’re doing. Stand, and don’t look away from me.”

Fear prickled up her spine. She had never heard Sandor speak in that tone of voice, and she knew something wasn’t right. He was standing completely still, his flashlight pointing into the woods to her back now, and she found herself completely ignoring his words and turning as he hissed her name again.

“ _ Sansa!” _

But the two glowing eyes in the woods, not ten feet from where she stood, held her gaze. They were wide and staring--green orbs on a stark black background, hardly any reflection of light on the small trees from her miniscule campfire. And she instantly knew what it was.

“Wolf,” she whispered, and despite Gendry’s reassurances that the wolves weren’t a danger and wouldn’t do anything unless provoked or made to feel threatened, she felt terror claw at her throat, robbing her of all breath.

“Sansa, back up towards my voice,” came Sandor’s voice, on the surface calm but Sansa could hear the faint tremor in certain syllables, most notably those in her name.

Before she even realized what she was doing, she took a step back from the unblinking eyes, knife held in her hand in a grip tight enough that the handle’s rough edges bit into her palm.  _ “So your hand doesn’t slip when you’re elbow-deep in an animal,” _ Arya had explained when she’d shown off the knife Gendry had custom made for her. Sansa wondered now how long it would last in her hand if the wolf decided to attack.

_ The wolves won’t harm you unless provoked _ , she heard Gendry’s voice say in her mind as she took another step back. She hoped and prayed that what he said was true.

She took yet another step, feeling Sandor’s eyes float past her to the green ones in the woods, vigilant. She had no doubt his gun was in hand, and that he would protect her from any harm. But even so, she wanted his arms around her, and was beginning to feel the effects of her terror in the shaking of her hands, the hitching of her breathing, and the way her heart was ready to beat a staccato through the wall of her breast. 

Then the eyes followed her a step, and it was all Sansa could do not to scream in fright.

Step. Step. Her own steps mirrored by the eyes, unmoving unlike her own gait which took her slightly left, slightly right. The green orbs seemed to hover in space, though in her mind she imagined the stealthy body of the large wolf they were indeed attached to. Set in a thick skull with strong jaws and sharp teeth.

_ Oh gods _ , she prayed silently.  _ Preserve me _ .

When a hand holding a flashlight suddenly appeared at her side and drew her back against a sturdy chest, she nearly yelped from surprise, her heart jumping up into her throat at the same time relief washed through her mind. It was then that the wolf also stepped out into the dimly lit clearing, black as night, as though a wolf-shaped hole had opened in space and in it only the two green circles remained.

That was, until it’s tongue came out to lick the black muzzle and Sansa got a glimpse for the first time of glistening white teeth.

“Don’t move,” Sandor whispered from high above her, the flashlight hand near her forearm now now coming up and over her head, the beam of light never once leaving the wolf, so he could slowly maneuver her to stand behind him. Sansa didn’t mind at all, knowing all she held in her hand was a knife while she’d seen the black and silver handgun in Sandor’s.

The wolf watched them from just outside the treeline, an unmoving black shape, as Sansa peered out from behind Sandor’s upper arm, knife still clasped in one hand and a handful of his shirt in the other. They watched the wolf, the wolf watched them, for several minutes, while Sansa fought back the mounting panic at the thought;  _ Maybe it’s not alone _ .

But just as she began to scan the darkness behind the trees for any sign of the pack that was rumored to be in the area, the green orbs blinked and the black shadow turned, ambling back into the woods as though it hadn’t just caused Sansa to have a near heart attack. 

Sandor finally turned, tucking his gun in the holster hidden at his back.

“Hey,” he murmured, immediately wrapping his arms around her shoulders as she buried her face into his sternum. He shushed her quietly, gently rubbing her back through her sweater and keeping one arm wrapped low near her hips.

“It’s okay,” she stammered, her voice muffled in his shirt, then, “I’m okay.” The feel of his arms, his hand on her back, combined with the scent of him filtering in through her nose--laundry soap on top of something she suddenly realized was the natural smell of his skin beneath the fabric--soothed her nerves enough for her to steady her breath.

“No, you’re not okay,” he countered, “You’re shaking like a leaf.”

And she realized she was, in fact, still trembling against him. Shakily she held out her arm and dropped the knife into the ground, tip first. She didn’t want to accidentally stab him when she brought her arms up like she did then, wrapping them around his waist as she inhaled deeply and nestled into him.

“Maybe we’ll skip the marshmallows tonight.” Her voice was as shaky as her body, but she chuckled lightly anyway, in an attempt at bravado that nevertheless fell short, even to her own ears. “In fact, I think I’m ready for bed now.”

_ Anything _ , she thought,  _ other than sitting out here remembering green eyes glowing from between the trees. _ She knew she would spend the rest of the evening inspecting the treeline if she didn’t just ignore it and go to sleep, so that sounded like the best idea. 

“I’m glad we got the tents set up, and that we don’t have to do that now. But… would you mind if we pulled out the stakes and dragged mine closer to yours?” She turned her cheek to rest it against his chest, hearing the thudding of his heart beneath the wall of muscle, and she sighed again, noting her voice was just slightly less shaky than it had been before. His hand rubbed her shoulders softly, slowly, as he listened. “I’d feel more comfortable if we were closer.” 

His hand did still then, and he drew back from her, his face illuminated by the dying flames of her pitiful campfire. His eyes were dark, his mouth set in a firm line as he shook his head, causing waves of hair to tumble over his shoulders as he spoke.

“No.”

Sansa blinked.

“No?”

_ Oh gods,  _ was he going to deny her this one concession? There had been a wild animal in the camp-- _ a wolf! _ \--and she doubted she would get any sleep if their tents remained a full Sandor body length apart as they were now.

Then he said words that did little to still the fluttering of her heart.

“You’re not sleeping in a tent alone tonight.”

 

\---/\\---------------

  
  


Sandor was in his massive sleeping bag, which she was sure was big enough for two normal sized people, with her wrapped in her smaller mummy bag, sandwiched somewhat close to him so their bags didn’t rub the sides of his two-man tent.

And she was frustrated. Sexually frustrated. Badly.

For years they had lived next to each other, and had grown close as friends, though for the longest time she thought the attraction had been one-sided. But then she started to notice him watching her, and it was like the fog had lifted and she saw right through his attempts at being sly.

Like that one time they had met each other going into the grocery store, and she’d offered him use of her cart which allowed them to walk together and chat like friends did. Only several times she thought she had turned with an item to put in the cart only to see his eyes wander up from what was surely her butt. But he covered it well, with no other outward sign that something was amiss.

Then there was the time he’d fostered a great dane, and had called down to ask her for help bathing him. Stranger had been his name, and at two years old he was nothing but an overgrown puppy.

An overgrown puppy who refused to get into Sandor’s oversized tub. 

It had taken both of them to not only get him in there, with Sansa maneuvering his legs and butt in as Sandor held him under the chest and lifted him, but also to keep him in there and to suds him up good and thoroughly, while Sandor dumped buckets of water down the big dog’s neck and back. Sansa lost count of how many times Stranger had shaken off that water, he hated it so much, and when he was finally almost finished and he’d lept out of the tub before either she or Sandor could stop him, he had barreled into Sansa before escaping on big gangly legs, leaving the two humans to sort through the mess he’d left behind.

Only Sansa was now on her back, having hit the floor fairly hard, trying to regain her breath.

That’s when Sandor appeared in her vision, leaning over her and asking if she was okay, only… His eyes hadn’t stayed on her face. They had wandered down to her chest, stayed there for a moment, before apparently deciding she was fine. He jumped to his feet--an astounding feat for a six and a half foot man--and had stormed out of the bathroom, yelling to his unruly foster dog.

It was only after Sansa had clamored up with the help of the tub’s slippery edge, catching sight of herself in the bathroom mirror, when she’d realized her pale pink shirt was indeed  _ incredibly transparent _ when wet.

Huh. Who’d a thunk?

It was a good thing she had worn her completely opaque white bra with the sexy lace covering the top halves of the cups. Yes, a good thing, because it meant  _ Sandor had seen every detail _ minus the color of her nipples.

It was only after these events when she had upped her game, moseying on over one morning in nothing but her bathrobe, climbing into his bed that night in her most blatant attempt at seduction, and then the dinner-- _ gods _ , that dinner. 

If he ever licked steak juice off  _ his _ fingers she’d cum in her panties. She knew this, because she pictured it now and had to close her eyes as a shiver wracked through her body.

He lay beside her in the small tent, oblivious to her thoughts, quietly snoring and facing the top of the tent just as she was. But it was pitch black outside, and she couldn’t see a single thing, so she could do nothing but lay there wide awake, thinking of him.

The more she thought of him, the more she became aware of her body’s reaction to her thoughts. Despite the cold of the night around her she was burning up inside her sleeping bag, hot and bothered and restless. There was an ache between her legs and it wasn’t long before she decided she’d never get any sleep if she didn’t do something about it.

So, as stealthily as she could manage, she slid her hand upwards inside her sleeping bag and into the waistband of her pajama pants, beneath her panties and further down still, until the curls between her legs, trimmed down to a nicely rounded thatch just above her slit, tickled the pads of her fingers. 

She paused when she heard a hitch in his breath, and waited for him to continue snoring before she resumed her exploration.

Down they slid, until the tips of her fingers just barely grazed her sensitive clit.

Sansa nearly moaned as tendrils of sensation all found their resting stop there at the bundle of raw nerves, but she bit her tongue to stay the sound as she dipped a finger into her opening, finding it already slick with her arousal. Once, twice, she dipped it in and pulled it out, hooking it the third time just the way she liked, before drawing it upwards, back to the swollen nub at the top of her slit. 

The intensity of her weak ministrations forced her to pull her lower lip between her teeth, stifling the gasp that wished to escape her throat. But it wasn't until she imagined that it was not her finger sliding side to side over her flesh, but Sandor’s tongue, that she found herself actually in danger of releasing her mewls of pleasure.

Warm tongue, prickly mustache and beard, his nose nuzzling the soft hairs that covered her mound; she imagined all of it as her eyes drifted closed and she bit harder and harder into her lip.

His hands would hold her legs apart--or perhaps they wouldn’t; perhaps one would hold her hips steady while the other would wander up her torso, rough skin against soft belly. And she would arch her back as his fingers found first her breast, and then her nipple. She imagined she would dig her own fingers into his hair because clenching them in the sheet wouldn’t be enough. And his hair--she had never touched it, but she knew it would be soft, pliant in her fingers, gliding over her skin like liquid.

Sansa imagined his tongue dipping down into her slit as she mimicked the motion with two fingers, and he would groan as he tasted her, before returning to her clit-- _ gods _ , she was so close--where he would tease and kiss and suck and lick until she was writhing beneath him, begging for consistency so she could finally find her release.

But no--she drew her finger away, exhaling deeply as she imagined him doing the same thing with his mouth. He would rise above her, lips glistening as he positioned his erection at her entrance, and she would only orgasm at the exact moment he thrust into her, because surely she would never have felt anything so fulfilling as his hard cock inside her tight walls.

Bringing her finger back to her clit and rubbing in earnest now, Sansa easily sent herself over the precipice at the thought of Sandor’s hardness buried deep within her, and with a jerk of her body she pulled her hand away from the soft skin between her thighs, allowing the release to continue without assistance, waves of pleasure radiating out from her core as her legs twitched inside her sleeping bag and her breath came in short spurts.

As she slowly drifted back down from the bodily rush of release, she became more afraid that she was going to wake Sandor, with as powerful of an orgasm as that was. Her lip was sore where she was biting it, because it had been necessary for keeping silent. 

But no--he snored away beside her, oblivious to the naughty deed she had just carried out mere inches from him. As determined as ever--more so, in fact--to finally win Sandor over and into her bed, she closed her now heavy eyelids, completely sated and lethargic, and drifted off into a seamless sleep.

 

\------/\\---------

 

Sansa was dreaming the most glorious dream when she came awake the following morning. She was laying on a lounge in front of a beach cabana, her hand in the sand beside her chair. Something was tickling her nose, and the sun was beating down on her, heating the front of her naked body--

_ Naked? _

She immediately came awake, and froze when she realized the thing that was tickling her nose was the broad expanse of Sandor’s bare chest and the pelt of hair that covered it.

From what she could tell, they had both wiggled out of their sleeping bags a bit, enough so that in the night they had turned to each other and he’d wrapped his massive tree trunk arms around her and cradled her to his chest. Her arms were…

Ah, yes, there they are. One was wrapped around her own stomach while the other was flung across his waist, casually resting over the loose material of the flannel shirt he’d worn to bed.

_ Well _ , she thought as sleep completely left her in a flush of arousal,  _ isn’t this interesting. _

Rather than moving and waking him, she decided to remain as she was and enjoy the moment for as long as she could, because this was so unusual. Sandor wasn’t physically affectionate like this, nor like that hug last night after the wolf incident. But she wanted to show him how pleasant it was, and how good it could be between them. So instead, she made sure not to move as his chest hair tickled at her nose and she inhaled with steady breaths the scent of his skin, still familiar from the hug of the previous night.

Her dream was fading but she remembered the heat, and realized now it was Sandor’s chest pressed to hers that had made her feel like she had been in a tropics. Indeed, he was a heater unto himself. Even the arm banded around her middle was putting off enough heat that she wondered if eventually she would get uncomfortable with it.

Sansa didn’t know how long she laid there--maybe ten minutes, twenty minutes, she wasn’t sure--but eventually Sandor started to come awake and she held completely still, eyes closed, not wanting to give away her current wakefulness.

At first he pulled at her, drawing her into his body even tighter than before, in a sort of stretch. His hand rubbed up to her shoulders, down over her spine, and then into her sleeping bag where, as he sighed a deep, sleepy sigh into her hair, he cupped her bottom and gave it a small squeeze.

Sansa almost squealed with the touch, but managed to stay silent as a plan began to form--just a small one, to test the waters.

She straightened her legs as his hand came back to her lower back, and she felt him freeze when she, too, took a deep breath, squeezing him to her as though mimicking the stretch he had just given. Then she leaned forward and nuzzled her nose into his chest, letting her breath out on an audible, contented sigh against his skin.

Sandor was frozen--nose in her hair, arm around her middle, and she could feel that he was barely breathing. It was a struggle not to smile against him and instead to act as though waking up next to him in such an intimate embrace was the most natural thing in the world.

So with a tilt of her head she looked up at him, blinking sleepily as she pulled the corner of her lip between her teeth giving him a small smile, because she was definitely afraid she was going to scare him away.

But the look in his eyes was exactly as she’d feared--deer in the headlights. It was as though he was looking at her for the first time, and unfortunately that first time was somewhat similar to being caught with his hands down his pants by his foster mom when he was a young boy--if that had ever happened, at all.

Eyes wide, mouth parted, she watched his gaze drop down to her lips, hold, and then rise again to her eyes, and for a split second she knew-- _ she knew!! _ \--that he was thinking of kissing her. It gave her a thrill to know she held at least a little power over him other than the allure of her butt.

But then it was over, because he pulled away, rose from his sleeping bag and left the tent. When it was zipped back up she heard his hurried steps take him away from camp, and she was too shocked and determined to wonder where he had gone.

But then, just as she was about to settle back down into her sleeping bag and come up with what pretty much amounted to a plan of attack, her own bladder echoed what his had likely been telling him as soon as he woke. She was going to have to take a trip to the woods soon, and she wasn’t going to be able to wait much longer.

But wait she did, and wait, and wait. If she had a watch she would have been looking at it by the time she heard his footsteps return to the clearing. It really took a man that long to pee?

He didn’t return to the tent, so she merely unzipped the flap, pulling her hair into another low ponytail and not bothering to change out of her pajamas. 

Of  _ course _ she wanted him to see her in that built-in bra tank top with the super thin straps and thinner fabric.

Because of  _ course _ the way his nostrils flared when he looked at her said that he saw exactly what it was she wanted to show him.

She picked up the toilet paper from where it had been sitting on the camp chair and sauntered off, keeping the sway of her hips steady and subtle, as she rounded the corner down the path. She was far enough away that he wouldn’t be able to see her, but close enough that, should she have to scream, he would still hear and be able to come rescue her with that gun of his.

But while she squatted in the bushes she couldn’t help but feel a tremor of fear as she wondered if she was being watched by glowing green eyes.

 

\----------/\\---------

 

Later on, it was as though their morning embrace hadn’t happened, and Sansa was content to leave it that way as it seemed to make Sandor’s mood improve. She even kept her distance, helping him to cook breakfast and making sure their belongings were contained in their packs before they headed off in search of places to explore around their camp.

The day was warm, with the sun beating down on them and making the heavy packs uncomfortable. But still they carried them, unwilling to leave them back at the camp. It mattered little to Sansa, because she had changed into a somewhat more demure tank top--thicker straps with an actual bra underneath--and was happy to see Sandor had switched out his heavy flannel for a thin undershirt.

She was also preoccupied with taking photos, and switching up settings on her phone to see what sort of effects she could generate with the piece of technology. It was a newer phone, so she was impressed with the quality images she was getting. Every other photo she’d rush up to Sandor’s side to show him, and then dart off to some other destination where she thought she’d get a good shot.

Sandor for his part just followed her, rarely taking out his own phone to take shots. He seemed more intent on letting her be the expedition leader, only cautioning her away from a wall that looked in danger of collapsing, or showing her where she had been about to step into a gaping hole--unmarked, and not exactly rare throughout the mine.

Then it finally happened, just before lunch time when they had moved from the lower levels of buildings up towards the hill where they could explore more of the plants, wildflowers and views.

Sansa’s phone ran out of room, and despite going back to see what was in her gallery, she found herself unwilling to delete anything she’d taken.

“Sandor, can I use your phone? Mine ran out of room.”

He stopped walking behind her, and she paused to look back at the incredulous look on his face.

“Already? We still have half a day left to look around.” 

He stood with his hands on his hips, his pack a round mass rising above his shoulders behind his head. He had brushed his hair back and off his face, which he didn’t normally do when in public, but she supposed he was comfortable enough in her presence that he didn’t mind his scars being on display for her. She looked at them now briefly, feeling an odd but welcomed sort of affection for them, simply because they were a part of him. She wanted to run her fingers over them, to see how far down his neck and shoulder they extended, and to explore their edges with the tip of her tongue.

She realized he was looking at her funny, likely because she hadn’t responded, and with a little shake of her head to clear it of desire, she looked away, shielding her eyes from the sun.

“I know, but there’s just so much to take in,” she said with genuine wonder in her voice. 

Their surroundings were gorgeous--the darkly faded wood of the old buildings, the stunning greenery surrounding them, and the various patches of bright color where bunches of wildflowers grew. She knew she’d turn at least a few of the photos black and white, simply because color wasn’t needed to see the beauty in the landscape. But most of them would remain color, and she would print out quite a few of them to compose a photo album of their weekend for Sandor.

Despite her back being towards him, his phone appeared in her peripheral vision, from where he was standing behind her. Sansa turned, closer to him now than they had been since waking up wrapped in each others arms, and she smiled up at him, not caring that their close proximity was doing funny things to her stomach. She was enjoying his company, as usual, and let him know with the happiness on her face.

“Thank you,” she said somewhat more demurely than she had intended.

Sandor looked down at her with his peculiar, searching expression and nodded.

“Don’t drop it,” he bid her, reaching out to tap the tip of her nose in an adorable gesture that made Sansa’s heart do a little dance. 

But the phone had a massive black rubber case on it, so she was sure it wouldn’t break even if she dropped it off the Eiffel Tower.

“The camera is on the bottom left of the home screen.” He turned away after that instruction and walked away to inspect a piece of rusted mining equipment that sat to the side of the trail. Sansa watched him for a moment, appreciative of his long legs and the way his jeans did nothing to hide the strength of them. 

She wanted to take a picture of him, as she had already done several times that morning, but his screen was locked.

“Oh, I need your pin,” she said quickly, about to hand his phone back to him. 

But with his back still turned, he said, “It’s seven-zero-two-eight-three.”

Sansa drew up short.  _ Really _ ? He just gave her his phone pin number without blinking an eye? That had to mean something, because that’s not something she would have done.

Well, maybe for him. Possibly. She smiled and shook her head, putting the numbers into his phone and bringing up his home screen.

Okay,  _ yes _ , she totally would give him her pin if he asked. She trusted him implicitly, with every aspect of her life. There was nothing she would ever keep from him if he asked, nothing she would ever hide form him.

Except perhaps the fact that she’d gotten off to thoughts of him the night before. And many nights before that back home in her apartment. Yes, she would keep that from him. That was for her mind and hers alone.

Sandor walked a short distance away and Sansa pressed the camera button, immediately bringing up the camera screen. She turned the phone over and breathed hot breath on the lens, using the hem of her tank top to wipe off the lens although it already appeared to have been cleaned. But she didn’t want to get back to camp and find out she’d taken a bunch of blurry photos.

She held up the phone in his direction and snapped a photo of him reaching down to touch an old engine that was halfway embedded into the ground. Then there was another photo of him with his hands on his hips, looking up at the rising hill behind the mine buildings.

After a third photo of him taking a drink of water he asked her with his back turned, “Are you going to take pictures of the mine? Or just me?”

_ Fine _ . If he wanted to be sarcastic, two could play that game.

“When I see something that looks better than you, I’ll take a photo of it.”

She didn’t wait for his expression as he turned to her, but turned herself and walked in the opposite direction, around a curve in the trail and out of sight. It was there that she saw the small clearing that had at one time been the area outside what looked like a mess hall. It still had some dilapidated old tables outside leaning against the collapsed building, and several benches that someone had even reconstructed more recently to provide seating for explorers who wandered down that path.

It was the perfect spot for a rest, in the dappled sunlight beneath the overgrown trees that surrounded the site. Sansa swung the pack off and put it on the ground beside a bench, then took a seat and inhaled the fresh country air. 

There were scents that she recognized--wildflowers, dirt, clean air in general. But there were also new scents her senses picked up--the decaying wood of the building behind her, and rust from the various mining implements strewn about the site. The fragrant identity of the spot was old, overgrown, but not unpleasant. She knew unpleasant scents from living in the city, and there was no rotting garbage or vehicle exhaust here.

The sounds, too, delighted her. Songbirds sang, the breeze rustled through the tree branches, and up above a hawk’s screech could be heard intermittently. Somewhere in the distance there was rushing water, and she wondered if perhaps there was a hillside stream somewhere they could venture to later.

The scene in front if her was too good not to snap a picture of, so she took out Sandor's phone and mentally composed the shot.

Rusted dredge bucket to the left, with low bushes behind it, corner of dilapidated, collapsed building to the right, and the vibrant green hill and blue sky in the background. Portrait mode.

She wanted to see if there were any filters so she swiped left but came up with settings instead. Wanting to go the easier route and use the built-in filter features, she swiped right, and her breath caught at what appeared on the screen.

It was her, only… Wow. Sandor had taken a photo of her. It must have been earlier when they were walking along the trail that led to the base of the hill behind the mine, because she had her pack on her back and she was smiling, pointing at the bird nest she had spotted in the tree. She was turned sideways looking at the nest, but the sunlight filtering through the leaves had spotted in her hair and turned bits of it to glistening molten copper, creating a crown of ethereal sparkles circling her head and trailing down where her ponytail rested against her breast. The expression on her face--which she remembered, because the emotion behind it was so fresh in her mind--was absolute delight at seeing the perfectly sculpted dwelling of an unknown species of bird, still in its natural habitat and firmly affixed to the branch of a tree. She was completely enthralled by all of these small discoveries they had been making, and apparently Sandor had captured one of them on camera.

But then the next photo, as she swiped her finger across the screen to see it, was also of her, this time crouched beside the small fire, her knees circled by one arm and pressed to her chest as she poked the fire with a stick in her other hand. The way Sandor had composed the photo--with the fire blurred as it was in the foreground and Sansa’s face the main focus of the image--made her glow with a childlike happiness as she smiled at her feat of camping prowess. 

It didn’t matter that the fire had burned out shortly after the wolf incident, or that it had never been a roaring campfire to begin with. She had been proud of it, and this photo clearly showed that. But again, her hair shone like burnished copper with the firelight flickering off the individual strands.

There were just a handful of others after that one. 

Frustration as she attempted to set up her tent by herself, strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail hanging in her face as she contemplated the workings of those damned tent poles.

Anger when he’d caught her picking up trash that someone had left where they parked his truck--as though someone had held a party there and not bothered to clean up after themselves. She remembered that anger--the  _ Fuck you, Nature _ mentality she’d imagined the ignoramuses to have. Sandor had caught her just after standing from picking up two crushed beer cans, her hair a fan behind her head, once again gleaming like gold and copper in the bright midmorning sunlight.

Then, to her surprise, there was one of her going through Arya’s pack, and the look on her face-- _ gods _ , she laughed out loud at that one. She looked like a kid who was opening a Sevenmas gift, all excitement and eagerness at what she would find.

And she had to admit, Arya had been  _ very _ thorough in packing for the trip. All Sansa needed to switch out were the clothes her sister had left in them, both for her and for Sandor’s pack.

Interested now, Sansa continued to scroll through the pictures on Sandor’s phone as she sat there in the silence, every once in a while coming upon one of her at various times during their friendship. Some were months apart, some happened in a span of a few days. But they all made her look--just-- _ Wow _ , she thought again. 

Sandor really had a knack for photography. Or rather, he had a knack for photographing  _ her _ .

Loud footsteps sounded from around the corner, startling her. She had been snooping, and  _ darn straight _ she felt guilty about it. Quickly returning to the camera screen, she framed her shot and took it, not bothering to use any filters. He needed to see that she had indeed used his phone for the purpose for which she had intended it.

“Hey, I think it’s about lunch time, don’t you?”

Sansa glanced over at Sandor, smiling at him and attempting to not let her astonishment at what she’d found on his phone show on her face.

He walked up to her and stopped just feet from her, shielding his eyes with his hand from the sun that was hitting him at his great height. She liked how the direct sunlight seemed to lighten his hair, catching the few grays he had at his temples and turning them to silver. With him scanning the horizon, she was free to gaze on him while he was distracted, and only for the thousandth time realized how much she appreciated the raw maleness of him--the pure capableness of Sandor. She liked him, all of him--from the way he looked, to the way he acted, to his emotions, how he kept his apartment clean, how he loved dogs, watched over her even when she didn’t deserve it, and how he was here with her now, humoring her in her desire to become one with nature.

Even though it was actually  _ him _ she wanted to become one with.

When he finally looked down, she didn’t move for a couple seconds, but remained looking at him until he cleared his throat and slung his pack down next to hers. But that look in his eyes, when they darted from her own to her lips, down to her chest and back up again, spoke volumes--it spoke the words she knew he was holding in and refused to say.

He kept his voice even, but she watched his mouth as he said the single word, “Lunch?”

It was only natural for her to bite her lip, watching the way his beard and mustache moved as he formed words. Then his eyes, so gray and piercing, making her wish she knew what they would look like as he came.

_ Crap _ . She was going to get herself worked up with no release here in this damned clearing, and she hadn’t even workout out how exactly to get him to give in to the magnetic pull that was a constant presence between them.  _ Crap crap double crap _ .

So she busied herself making lunch, switching places with him so she could use one of the packs as a table of sorts while she took out the fruit, cut up the summer sausage, and figured out what crackers Arya had intended to use with the meat. Sandor only sat after spreading out the thin picnic blanket on the ground, but she knew he watched her as she worked, kneeling there in the soft grass that had sprouted on the floor of the clearing. 

Her question was as much to break the silence as it was to plan how the rest of their day was going to go.

“Shall we go up the face of the hill after lunch, and see how high we can get?” 

She filled two plates with food and packed away the remainders, glancing over her shoulder to find his phone in hand, instead of where she had left it on the bench. She’d bet money that he had just taken a photo of her, but she wasn’t going to pry.

“Aye,” he murmured after she’d turned back to the task, and when she was finished Sansa set the dishes on the blanket and moved to sit next to Sandor on the bench.

He slid over, giving her room, and suddenly winced, quickly standing as he walked a couple steps away, his hand on his butt as he turned to face her.

“What happened?” 

Watching his face screw up almost made her laugh because she realized she had never seen him in pain before. The way his lips formed a scowled and he scrunched up his eyes was adorable, though.

“Fucking hells, I think I got a splinter,” he grumbled, rubbing at his butt while he kept his back turned away from her. It was probably something he didn’t want her seeing him do.

“Can you get it out?” 

There were first aid kits in each backpack and she was sure there were tweezers in there. Only… He wouldn’t be able to see to get out a splinter.

_ Oh lords _ .

“Fucking--would you please turn around,” he groused, his tone irritated now. She knew he wasn’t irritated with her, but it slightly rankled her that he was apparently going to take it out on her.

She turned anyway, gingerly now that she knew exactly how dangerous this old bench could be.  _ No sliding _ , she thought with a smile that Sandor couldn’t see.

Then she heard him unzip his jeans and she suddenly felt the desperate need to turn around.

She didn’t, of course-- _ don’t chase him off, Sansa _ , she reminded herself--but oh, she wanted to. He cursed some more and she was silent for as long as she could be, until he really let loose a string of curses that made her ears turn red.

“I could help--”

“ _ Fuck _ no! I just… Have to… Fucking fat ass fingers.” He grumbled some more and she guessed he was attempting to dig it out, and she would have smiled if not for the lurid images she was suddenly being assaulted with.

_ Dirty mind _ , she silently chided herself, but the scenarios would not stop coming.

“Fuck--whatever. I’ll just live with it.”

“ _ What? _ No, Sandor, you can’t!” She rolled her eyes, only realizing afterwards that they wouldn’t send any sort of message because he couldn’t see her. “It could get infected, and all we have are little first aid kits. You need to get it out--”

“How the fuck am I supposed to do that?”

Boy, he was  _ really _ upset.

There was only one solution, and he didn’t want to try it, but she repeated it anyway.

“Sandor, I’ve got good eyes and nimble fingers. Give me ten seconds and I’ll have the splinter out and you’ll be fine.”

“I’m not dropping my pants so you can get a splinter out of my ass, Little Bird. I’m not a fucking child.”

Sansa shook her head, wanting to laugh and yell at him at the same time.

“I know you’re not a child, but you know I’m right. This is dirty wood, and we need to get that splinter out before it starts to fester and you have to be airlifted out for a blood infection. I can’t carry you down this hill, big man.” As if she had to point  _ that _ out! “So you either let me get that out or I’m going to ambush you tonight while you sleep and I’ll get it out then.”

She turned her face sideways, showing him her cheek but not turning enough so she could see him. If he had his jeans down, she assumed he would want his privacy.

“I will not take no for an answer this time, Sandor. Your health is at stake.”

There, she’d said it. Pushing all sexy thoughts out of her mind, and ignoring the pang of excitement that made her heart pitter patter in her chest at the thought of seeing his butt, she kept her face clear and steady while she waited for his answer.

It only came after a minute of his pacing, and his grumbling, and his, “Today of all fucking days to get a splinter in my ass.” 

With a final huff of breath, his words were low, a menacing growl that was directed at his circumstances and not at her.

“Fine.”

Sansa didn’t waste any time. She didn’t want to look too excited, nor did she want to appear suspicious, so she adopted a take charge persona and refused to meet his eyes.

“Lay down on your belly,” she ordered, gesturing towards the picnic blanket as she began rummaging through Arya’s pack.

More grumbling came, and she almost laughed again, this time at how he  _ was _ acting like a pissed off five-year-old. But he did what she told him, his jeans still hitched up around his hips. She tried not to look but failed, noting his face was turned away from her so she could look all she wanted and never be caught staring by him.

“I’m going to use tweezers to get it out, but I might have to use these little scissors if it’s in too deep. But I’ve got antibiotic ointment and a bandage to put on afterwards to prevent infection.”

He muttered something that sounded like, “Just fucking get on with it.”

When she finally knelt at his side, her knees pressed up against his thigh, she set the supplies on the blanket next to his waist and hesitated.

“Sandor, I need to pull down your jeans and boxers, okay?”

“I  _ said _ just fu--”

“I know, I know,” she interrupted, trying to keep the smile out of her voice. He really was adorable when he was at her mercy. In fact, she kind of liked him like this. “I’ll work as fast as I can.”

She held up her fists but needed them to stop shaking, so she unclenched, clenched and unclenched her fingers again, before sliding them into both waistbands and pulling them down far enough to expose the little red welt. She nudged him to roll slightly so she could pull the fabric down his side, which helped hold it out of the way so she could work.

His butt was hairy. That was the first thing that struck her, but it really shouldn’t have because the rest of him--from what she could see on a daily basis--was hairy as well.

The other thing that caught her eye was how pale his skin was, and she bit her lip to keep from laughing. She figured he was probably like most men who had a tan--beach mode on top, winter mode on bottom. His forearms were darkened with sun exposure but, as she could see now, his butt certainly was not.

“This is fucking embarrassing,” he grumbled, and Sansa smiled. He was a big man, a prideful man, and this probably wasn’t going over very well with him.

“Okay, I see the splinter,” she said, ignoring his comment. “It’s deep--how on earth did you sink it this deep? I’ll have to use the scissors for sure.”

Just at the opening, she told herself, but yikes--it was big. Well, not big, but long, and she could tell it was going to hurt when she finally had a grip on it with the tweezers and pulled it out.

Since it was towards the side of his butt, right where butt would have met bench while he was sitting down, he wasn’t as exposed to her as he likely thought he was. But regardless, she did work quickly, using the pre-packaged scissors to snip at the tiniest bit of skin around the entry point, enough so she could slide them beneath the tip of the splinter and grasp it with the tweezers.

“Okay, I’m going to pull now. Ready?” She bit her own lip, not excited about this part.

“Yes, I’m fucking ready. Would you just do it-- _ fuck that hurts woman!” _

Sansa didn’t even count down--she just pulled fast and the splinter came free, not even leaving any discoloration beneath his skin except for the blood that welled up inside where the splinter had been.

“I’m sorry!” she said loudly as he cursed and sputtered, though he quietly calmed himself when she rubbed just above the mark as she would have done when one of her little brothers had gotten a scrape. “Are you okay? Does it feel better?” It didn’t occur to her how ridiculous she must look--kneeling beside him, rubbing his butt like that--but it didn’t matter. She had hurt him, necessary though it was, and she hated it.

He didn’t answer her for a moment, but took a deep breath when she finally drew her hand away to prepare a bandaid. 

“Aye,” he said then, “It still smarts, but not as much.”

Sansa smiled, squirting a dab of ointment onto the bandaid from the single use packet she had found in the first aid kit. 

“Good,” she said softly, then, “It doesn’t seem to be dirty so I’m just going to put the bandaid on.” 

She positioned it so the ointment was over the cut and laid it across his skin, smoothing out the edges so there was no exposed adhesive that would get caught on his boxers.

Then, on impulse, and because she would have done it for her brothers, she leaned down with one hand on the ground and another resting on his lower back, and pressed a kiss to the bandaid--right on Sandor’s butt cheek.

Her action not only likely caught him by surprise, but her as well, because once she had  _ kissed his booboo _ , the feel of his skin beneath her lips was too enticing to only do once. Remarkably, he didn’t say anything. Nor did he move. She suspected he was so shocked by what she had done that he was frozen into motionlessness.

So when a sneaky little voice in her head, which sounded suspiciously like her  _ own _ voice, said,  _ “You know you want his skin against your lips,” _ she responded.

_ Why yes, voice. Yes, I do. _

Sansa moved up an inch, feeling the soft hairs against her mouth a moment before warm lips met warm skin. It was wonderful, and she wanted to do it again.

So she did.

And again, slightly higher, then again, until she encountered the hem of his shirt. He still did not move, nor made any sound, and when she pressed her mouth to the spot where the waistband of his boxers had left a small impression, she allowed her tongue to come out and taste him there. It was this new touch that finally elicited a shocked groan from him.

The sound just spurred her on, but instead of moving his shirt out of the way-- _ fight or flight, Sansa _ , she reminded herself, not wanting to provoke his usual knee jerk withdrawal--she merely kissed a slow path across his lower back, catching a glimpse of his closed eyes as her lips traveled to the side of his other hip.

It was there, with her face so close to him that she could feel the heat radiating off the surface of his skin, that she decided to move further upwards, nudging his shirt out of her way with her nose. At the same time she drew her tongue along his skin, and when the shirt was a few extra inches out of the way, she blew at the line of wetness she had left, watching goosebumps form on his skin as she did.

“Sansa,” he rasped, but his voice in no way sounded as though he wished to stop her. 

Sansa had affected him, and it was affecting her that she had affected him. She felt warmth pool between her thighs, accompanied by a growing wetness as she imagined the way she was making him feel.

So in response, she merely shushed him, now using one hand to hold the shirt out of the way as she pulled his jeans and boxers up, preserving his dignity. He seemed to relax at this, but when she kissed her way across his back again, coming back to the side on which she knelt, she ended with a more obvious open mouthed kiss to his side that made his entire body twitch, the swath of muscle beneath her mouth tightening just under the surface of his skin. She smiled against it.

“Sensitive,” she whispered, and was finally rewarded when after a moment he nodded once. “I like that.”

He cut off his own groan with a question. “What are you doing to me?”

But she didn’t hear it as him asking her to list off the steps she was currently taking to seduce him. No, she heard it for what she was certain he meant--that he didn’t understand how something such as soft kisses to his back, and some swipes of her tongue--could generate such a powerful response in him.

So she answered him honestly, using both hands to push his shirt up around his shoulder blades, exposing to her a broad, gorgeous back that she had been aching to see since she had met him years ago. It was all she could do to not release an appreciative cave woman grunt at the sight before her.

“What I want; what we both want,” she answered him simply, and she leaned her hands on either side of him to run her tongue from the hollow of his back, up the line of his spine, to where it disappeared below the bunched fabric.

He caught her off guard when his entire body jerked at the sensation, and suddenly he had flipped over, catching her with strong hands on her upper arms when she collapsed on top of his chest, her legs still curled to the side. They laid there face to face for a moment, his eyes searching hers, though she was confident she knew what he would find.

Love. She loved him. She wanted him. She wanted to be with him. 

Sansa remained stolid, neither backing away from what was happening between them, nor allowing any eagerness to appear on her face. She wanted him to see her heart as he studied her eyes, likely looking for any signs that she wasn’t being one hundred percent honest or willing to engage in this new physical relationship with him.

He stared so long that she spoke first, wanting to ask him the question that had burned in her mind all day, ever since they had woken up in each other’s arms. As she spoke, he watched her lips.

“Why did you pull away from me this morning? You seemed to like it--waking up like that, I mean.” Her voice started to waver, and for a moment a sliver of doubt leaked into her thoughts at the possibility that she wasn’t actually reading him correctly.

_ Had _ he liked it? He seemed to, with the way he had held her close, nuzzled her hair, rubbed her back. And that squeeze to her butt--she could still feel it as though his hand was there, the memory of the sensation fresh in her mind.

“I mean, I liked it,” she assured him, dropping her own eyes to his lips, looking at the soft surface before realizing she really wanted him to reply. “But it looked like you did, too, and--”

“I couldn’t touch you this morning because of what you did last night.”

His lips formed the words but a thousand possibilities revolved through her mind as to what he might be talking about, and they all centered on the amazing orgasm she’d had just inches from his sleeping body. But surely he meant the incident with the wolf? Or that hug they’d shared after? Or that they had slept in the same tent?

She lifted her eyes to his and saw that his pupils had dilated, his eyes appearing darker in the brightness of midday.

“What do you mean?” she asked haltingly, almost afraid of what his answer was going to be.

He was watching her lips again, and as he did, his tongue came out to wet his own. It glistened, and she wanted to bend down and press her mouth to his, but didn’t dare--not when he was leaving such a huge question hanging between them.

“Answer me,” she bid quietly, looking into Sandor’s gray eyes, hoping to see answers there. But she saw none--only desire, attraction, a growing awareness that what was between them would not be ignored. It simmered and grew and lapsed into such a concrete state that there was no denying by either of them that they either act on it, or move on. Sansa knew this now.

There was no way she was going back to her lonely apartment to endure this silent yearning. She would leave, because her heart was already in danger of shattering depending on the direction this man chose to take their friendship.

He looked at her then, but Sansa’s eyes were drawn to his neck as he swallowed, then back up when he closed his eyes, as though to gird himself for the moment when he would speak his thoughts.

“When you,” he finally spoke, pausing as he opened his eyes. He directed them at her, almost accusingly when he finished, “Pleasured yourself.”

Sansa would have collapsed had she not already been sprawled over his wide chest. She had  _ not _ expected him to say that!

“ _ Oh gods _ ,” she murmured, but Sandor just nodded, his face serious, as though they had both come to the same conclusion and it was not a good one.

He knew. He had… heard. Or felt. The trembles in her body, the gasping breaths as she’d imagined him doing sinful things to her body, and how obvious she knew it must have been when she had brought herself to orgasm with his fingers.

“You knew,” she whispered, unable to reveal her thoughts with actual voice. 

Sandor nodded slowly, watching her face.

It was Sansa’s turn to swallow, and now her gaze dropped to the collar of his t-shirt.

“All day.” Her voice was barely audible now, but she watched his chin dip with his second nod.

Looks like it was her turn to be embarrassed. She had no idea what to say, only… 

Wait, what? How would that have made him pull away and leave the tent this morning? Did it scare him? Was he appalled by it? By what she had done?

Because if he was, she was ready to leave. She couldn’t face him if that was what was going on. And as the thought entered her mind it began to take root, sending her self doubt into overdrive and her self confidence into the dirt.

But if he was appalled by it, how could he have reacted so positively to her kissing his back? And the photo of her on his phone from earlier today--why would he take such a great photograph if he was repelled by her actions? Was Sandor toying with her, encouraging her in harmless ways and denying her the bigger things she wanted?

Her thoughts were in such turmoil and she knew she’d never figure them out while draped over Sandor in this clearing, so she moved to get up, pushing at his chest with her palms in an effort to rise from her position.

But he held her fastly by the arms, his fingers firm but gentle on her skin.

“Let me up,” she said now, coolly. 

She didn’t want to show him her embarrassment, how her pride had been hurt by whatever it was he was doing. He didn’t need to see her torn, emotional, ripped apart by her own lack of understanding. 

“No.”

The single word broached such masculine authority that she blanched, glancing up at him from where she had suddenly found the color of his t-shirt fascinating.

“Let me up and I’ll leave you alone.”  _ There _ . That should do it.

“Sansa, listen to me.” His voice threatened to be her undoing, that familiar rasp speaking to her in such an intimate tone that she wanted to weep with the injustice. How she had pined for him all these years! How she had planned and schemed and dreamed of him, all this time! And it really, truly was all for nothing.

“I think it’s time we leave.”  _ Gods _ , her voice sounded so sad. It  _ was _ sad, but that didn’t mean she had to leak sadness from her pores. She began to get upset with herself.

But Sandor held her firm, and when she pulled back with her palms once again pushing at his chest, he pulled her towards him, until their faces were inches apart.

“ _ What? _ ” she hissed, and when she looked him full on in the face, she was surprised by the lack of amusement and upset she found there. Instead, it was a calm resignation, one that spoke of not control or triumph, but one of acceptance--peace and interest in one expression.

“Do you want to know why I couldn’t touch you this morning? Why I left the tent?”

Sansa was still annoyed, but her curiosity got the best of her and she looked away, at the same time giving a curt nod as she watched the rustling of the leaves across the clearing. 

“It was because I was jealous.” 

Sansa whipped her face back around to look at him. He connected his eyes with hers and held them as he continued.

“I was incredibly turned on all fucking night, but I didn’t want to touch you. And when I finally fell asleep only to wake up with my fucking arms around you, and you were rubbing your nose on my chest and making me think of what you’d done in that tent beside me the night before, I was going to go insane. So I left to--to…” 

It was his turn to look away, and Sansa realized with a sudden clarity why it took him so long to come back to the tent. Her lips parted on a soft gasp, causing Sandor to look back at her.

“Aye, I did it. Because you’re too fucking irresistible and you’ve been wearing down my defenses but what the  _ fuck _ , Sansa--why would you do that next to a man? Me? When I can hardly keep my eyes off of you as it is? You had to go and touch yourself last night while I laid there-- _ fuck _ , do you have any idea how hard it is to fake snore for so long? When all I wanted to do was grab you and hold your hands above your head so you couldn’t move and use  _ my _ hands on you? My hands making you whimper and sigh--”

He stopped suddenly, with Sansa staring down at him just listening to what was possibly the longest string of words she had ever heard him utter, when it dawned on her that he had just said nearly everything she’d ever wanted him to say.

So before he could start speaking again she lowered her mouth and closed her eyes, as she brought her hands to cup either side of his face.

It was the kiss she had been waiting years for, the kiss that finally curled her toes and made her whimper against his mouth when his tongue ventured forth and met hers.

Finally,  _ finally _ , she was allowed to let her hands wander--over his forehead and temples, across the scar tissue her fingers had itched to touch for ages, and into that gloriously thick beard of his. With a fervency she had only seen in movies, she kissed him until they were both senseless, his hands having roamed every inch of her body they could reach, and even then some--his torso bending this way and that so he could reach lower and lower. It was when she slid her leg over his and straddled his hips that Sandor finally cupped her butt and pulled her against him, his hardness very evident against the apex of her thighs.

“Gods, Sansa, I wanted to touch you, to feel you, to hear you cum with my mouth on yours and my fingers buried deep inside you.” He tore his mouth away from hers to speak but tilted his head when she kissed down the beard, following curve of his neck with her tongue. “And what you were doing to my back just now--Little Bird, I don’t know where you learned to do that but you made it impossible to be hard while laying on my stomach.”

Sansa finally felt a giggle erupt from within her at his words, and she kissed her way back up, over his jaw and back to his lips, where she drew his lower lip between her teeth. When she released it, it was to say, “I didn’t learn anywhere, Sandor--but I want my mouth on every inch of your body, and that was just part of you that you allowed me to see.”

They both laughed lightly, but then his face became serious once again, the mood dampening when he lifted his hands to brush flyaway hairs from her face. 

“Sansa, I don’t know what to do.”

It was an admission of the best kind, though still with a possible horrible outcome, but she chose to ignore it, and to encourage him to take the path that held her--to walk this path together. She had wanted it for so long, and she knew now that he could see it as well.

“Sandor, I…” she paused as he drew the back of his knuckles down her cheek, so affectionately that she felt the prick of tears in the corners of her eyes. But he watched her, waiting for her to continue.

“I love you--no, don’t say anything.” He’d gone to interrupt her, and she stopped him with a finger to his lips. But the finger  _ on _ his lips turned into a finger running  _ over _ his lips, and it was there she kept her eyes trained as she finished her thought. “I have loved you for a long time, and I’m sorry if I went about showing you the wrong way--”

He laughed against her finger and spoke anyway, saying, “Aye, climbing into my bed was a bit obvious.”

Sansa smiled as well, her expression wry.

“Yes, well, you proved to be more dense than I expected.” She chuckled when he showed mock outrage. “I’m serious, Sandor. I love you, and I want to be with you, and I decided to not take no as an answer-- _ oh!” _

Sandor chose that moment to wrap his arms around her and roll so he was hovering over her, this bringing them so he rested between her legs but remained propped up on his elbows.

“Aye, Little Bird, I know ye do,” he breathed against her mouth, so close now that she merely had to lift her chin and they would be kissing once again. But she waited, knowing that a rock of her pelvis would probably turn her into a sex-craved nymph if his erection even brushed against the crotch of her jeans. The weight of his hips cradled between her thighs was doing funny things to her, growing the pool of warmth that rested low in her belly and causing her to be hyper aware of the proximity of his chest to the tips of her breasts.

“You know?” 

The sound of her voice was foreign to her--breathless and wanton and full of need. Sandor nodded, and chose that moment to indeed press himself against her, rocking upwards and causing delicious friction that made her lift her face to whimper against his mouth. She wanted his kiss-- _ needed _ it--but he held back, despite her multiple attempts at creating contact between her lips or tongue and his own mouth.

Sansa tightened her arms around his neck and still he held back, looking into her unfocused eyes, and she closed them tightly, briefly, just long enough to clear them so she could once again focus on his face.

“How long have you known?”

Another rocking of his hips and she had to bite her lip, lest she cry out. 

Nearly before she’d said the last word, he answered, “Too fucking long,” and his mouth finally came crashing down to hers, stars erupting in her vision when he rocked for a third time, and then a fourth, his hands sliding into her hair as she lost all ability to count or tell time or breathe.

He was all around her, holding her beneath him as he plundered her mouth, heedless to her whimpers and mewls of passion beneath him. He took and took and she gave and gave, so blissfully happy that finally,  _ finally _ , she was getting what she’d craved for so long. His hair fell around them, a curtain that created their own small world, where it was just the two of them and the sounds of their kissing and the moving of their muscles as their bodies fitted perfectly together, as she’d known they would. It was truly like she’d been made for him--made to end up here, her back to the picnic blanket and soft grass, grinding her hips up into his while the late summer air swirled in the trees around them.

It was the most magical moment of Sansa’s life, and Sandor interrupted it to make it the  _ best _ moment of Sansa’s life--he paused their kiss, but only to rasp heatedly into her ear, “I love you, too, Little Bird.”

 

\----------------/\\---

 

They fell on each other inside the tent as though their lives depended on getting each other’s clothes off--as though the very air they breathed was secondary to that culmination of months, years, of sexual frustration. Because moments after she’d told him she had been on birth control since shortly after meeting him, he pushed into her wetness with one sure, fluid stroke, fully seating himself inside her and making both of their dreams come true.

They rested there for a moment, her back pushed into their bed of camping pads, sleeping bags and miscellaneous strewn clothing, with Sansa murmuring her love for him over and over, guiding his face with her hands so she could kiss his lips, his cheeks, his eyes, and his scars-- _ Gods _ , it felt good to finally get her mouth on those scars.

She told him this and he laughed harshly, but as he finally withdrew from her and then thrust slowly back in, she turned his head and ran her tongue along the uneven edge of them.

The shudder that wracked his body told her everything she ever needed to know about those scars.

For a minute she loved on them, almost as though she was a cat and had found a new source of comfort--nuzzling against them with her nose, her cheek, kissing up into where his hairline would be and back to the mangled remnants of the shell of his ear. It was there that she whispered,  _ “I love all of you,” _ and his second shudder was accompanied by a groan of satisfaction and a growl of sexual power before he began thrusting in earnest, pushing his pelvis down into her as he moved in and out. 

Feet firmly planted on the floor, she raised her hips to meet him every time, and it wasn’t long before the build up began in her belly, a pressurized vortex of swirling arousal that had her scratching his shoulders and crying out his name. Sansa reeled as though gravity had abandoned them, her heart tumbling in her chest but her mind incapable of processing any of it as his body rubbed against her sensitive skin, sending her crashing into the most intense orgasm she’d ever experienced.

With every last vestige of strength she possessed, she urged him on with her arms and legs, willing him to follow her as his hardness drew out her orgasm in wave after wave. He truly followed her moments later when his deep, guttural cry sounded beside her ear and his movements became quick and harsh, his heavy body’s movements slowing until he finally came to a stop, buried deep inside her and resting atop her smaller body.

He held himself up just enough to allow her room to breathe, and Sansa waited for her heart to calm and her mind to clear before she began to process what had just happened.

What  _ had _ just happened? She smiled, her hands tracing lazy lines up and down Sandor’s slick back. She dipped her face to his shoulder and licked his salty skin, pressing a kiss to where her tongue had left a wet trail. 

What had just happened was the most amazing thing she’d ever experienced, and she was happy. No, beyond happy. She was walking on clouds, her heart fuller than it had ever been before.

When Sansa sighed languidly, Sandor chuckled into her shoulder.

“That was--”

“ _ Fucking hells _ \--”

“Mm hmm.”

He finally rose, still connected with her in the most intimate way possible, but Sansa merely tightened her legs around him, not willing to feel the loss of his cock yet from inside her.

“I think we need to clean up,” he murmured, but he was smiling in a way that, if he could see it, he would call it a  _ shit-eating grin _ . 

“Not yet,” she implored, bringing his face down to hers for a soft, lazy kiss. She nibbled at his mouth, drew her tongue along his lower lip and sucked it between her own, worrying its softness with the tip of her tongue as he closed his eyes and moaned deep. When she finally let him pull away, she found it was so he could do the same, followed by kisses to her nose, her forehead, her cheeks, and back to her mouth. There they remained for several moments, kissing and sampling, touching and caressing, reveling in this newfound closeness that had suddenly exploded between them over the course of the last hour.

Sansa finally squeezed her inner muscles around him, making him gasp into her mouth and breaking the kiss, raising his face so he could look into her eyes. Grey pools looked down at her, full of emotions she had only dreamed before of seeing in them.

“I love you, Sansa,” he whispered, dropping a quick kiss to her, even as she felt him stir inside her. Her eyes briefly widened at the sensation, but a wicked smile spread across Sandor’s face.

Smiling back, Sansa said, “And I love you, Sandor.” She stroked his hair back behind his ear, trailing her fingers down his cheek and watching as he took the tip between his teeth, the tip of his tongue caressing it inside his mouth. “You’re mine,” she added on a whisper, to which he nodded slowly.

“Aye,” he rasped, “I’m yours.” Before he finished speaking he pulled himself out of her until he had almost completely parted from her body, but he remained, poised at her opening as she looked up at him, biting at her lower lip in anticipation of him returning to fill her--with himself, with happiness, with  _ love _ .

And when he did, he accompanied it with the sweetest words ever spoken to her, “And you’re mine.”


End file.
